Mickey Spillane - The Body Lovers

"Any record of that?"

"It either happened too fast or he was too excited to put it down."

"That doesn't fit him at all."

"I know. Dale said he kept a private reference on him at all times."

"Nothing like that was found on the body."

"That doesn't mean it wasn't there. The position he died in was reaching for his coat. All he grabbed was that handkerchief, but he could have been trying to protect those papers. Whoever killed him simply lifted the stuff."

"But they couldn't be sure he didn't make a duplicate copy," I reminded him.

"It was a chance they took and it paid off. Right now everybody's backtracking Mitch's movements and something will show sooner or later. One thing we just found out was that Mitch made four calls to Norman Harrison, the political columnist on his paper. Norm wasn't home and his answering service took the message to call back. Mitch died before he could reach him. Ordinarily, Mitch and Norm rarely saw each other, so the request was kind of odd."

I went to say something, but Hy held up his hand. "Wait, that isn't all. The day he was poking around in the morgue file, Mitch sent a note by messenger to a man named Ronald Miller. He's an engineer for Pericon Chemicals in their foreign division. We contacted him in Cairo and he said Mitch wanted to see him on an important matter, but he was leaving for Egypt that day and couldn't make it. He didn't have any idea of what Mitch wanted, either. Their relationship was normal...they had served in the army together, got together occasionally and Mitch reviewed a couple of books this Miller wrote on his experiences in the Far East."

"It make sense?"

"I pulled the books from the library and went through them. One was an adventure novel and the other a technical travelogue. Neither sold very well. There wasn't a single thing in either one that fits this case."

"How long ago did he write them?"

"About ten years back."

"Nothing new since then?"

"No. Why?"

"Maybe he was intending to write another one."

"So what?"

"He could be an authority on something by now," I said.

"What's on your mind?"

"I don't know yet. How much of this has Pat got?"

"Everything. We're cooperating right down the line."

I grinned at him. "Late enough to get a head start, but cooperating."

"We're in business too," Hy agreed. "We still know the law on withholding evidence."

"And you decide what's evidence?"

For the first time Hy let a smile break through. "You ought to know, Mike. Now, where do you go from here?"

"Looking for Greta Service."

"Still on that kick?"

"It's the only one I got."

"Suppose it leads to Mitch?"

"He was my friend too, Hy."

"Yeah. Maybe you're right. It's better if we cover all the angles. There's no reason for anybody else to take it from that end except you. I hope you come up with something."

I took the photo of Greta Service from my pocket and held it out to Hy. "Your bunch can help out. How about running off a batch of these and passing them around. Somebody might spot her around Manhattan. And get the original back to my office. I'd like an excuse to see that McInnes doll again when I hand it back."

Hy nodded and grinned. "Not that it'll do you any good, kid. She's class and you don't fit in that kind of company. You'd have to wear a monkey suit and there wouldn't be any place to hide that damn gun you carry."

Pat met me in his office, his hair mussed and shadows under his eyes, looking like he had been up all night. He said, "Sit down," answered the phone twice, then leaned back in his chair and wiped the back of his hand across his face. "Sometimes I wonder if it's worth it."

"Who's on your back now?"

"You must be kidding. I told you this was an election year. Everybody's passing the buck this time. That Temple kill really stirred the fudge."

"Got anything on it yet?"

He shook his head slowly. "Nothing but boxes of women's nightgowns. We hit all the stores they were bought at and most of the salesgirls remembered selling them, but that's about all. Mitch told the girls he was trying to match one a friend bought for his wife and looked for a description of anyone who bought either black or green, but both colors were so popular the girls couldn't come up with anything concrete."

"Why did he bother buying them then?"

"Got me. Probably just to make it look good. Come here, take a look."

The office next to Pat's was empty, but the desk and chair were piled high with empty boxes and a table along the wall was covered with a mound of filmy garments. I went over and separated them, looking at the labels. None were expensive, but the designs were clearly erotic and not intended for the average housewife. Half the pile were black numbers, the rest all shades of red, green and blue with two canary yellow styles.

"Find out which one he bought last?"

"No. Four of the sales slips were dated the same day he died and all were bought in the morning, but nobody could pinpoint the time. Each one of those stores sold a bunch of these things to men and women the same day. We have a team out trying to nail something down, but all we get is a big, fat zero. Why the hell do these things have to be so complicated?"

"Wish I could help."

"Don't do me any favors," Pat said. "I'm still getting nudged by the brains upstairs about how you happened to be the one to find the Delaney girl."

"What's new on her?"

"One thing for sure...neither she nor the Poston girl were identified as buyers of those gowns. We got a make on the Delaney kid by way of left field. About a month ago Vice raided a pornographic photography ring selling sixteen-millimeter stag reels and she was one of the featured players. One of our guys recognized her. The ones who sold the stuff couldn't put a finger on the ones who filmed it, but there was a scene with a window in the background that spotted certain buildings and we were able to locate the hotel they made it in. Right now we have a partial description of the ones who occupied the place and have the hotel covered in case they show again."

"Fat chance. That bunch shift around."

"It's the only chance we have. Dames who make money that way don't pay social security and rarely use their own names. We still got the body on ice. She has one distant relative in Oregon who wants nothing to do with the situation, so there we stand."

"And the Poston woman?"

"You know that angle."

"Don't tell me you aren't digging into probable sources of the poison that might have killed her."

Pat relaxed and grinned at me. "You think too much, Mike," he said. "Sure, we're on it, the Washington agencies have been notified, but the possibilities of getting a lead are so remote I'm not hoping we'll get the answer that way. The M.E. got off some letters to friends in the profession who share the same hobby. He thinks they might be able to supply the answers if anybody has imported that particular drug."

"This deal has some peculiar sexual connotations," I said.

"Most of them have."

"But not like this."

"So far nobody knows they're tied in yet. We're not even sure ourselves. Luckily, the papers are cooperating."

"What happens if they break it first?"

"All hell breaks loose. Think you can use a partner?"

"Any time," I laughed.

"Which brings us to why you came up here in the first place."

I said, "Remember Harry Service?"

Pat nodded.

"He wants me to find his sister. She hasn't contacted him in a long time."

"You? He wants you to do this?"

"Come on, Pat, he isn't the kind to go to the cops."

"How'd he reach you?"

"Supposing I forget you asked that question."

Pat gave me a disgusted look and said, "Okay, okay. What do you want from me?"